Oh Brother
by Anti-Valentines O-S Contest
Summary: Entry for AVC. Emmett is left by voicemail on Valentines Day. What does he do when he finds out his girl left him for his brother. ...Emmett pulled the gun out of his waistband and pointed it as his brother’s dick…Jane’s head. OOC AU/AH Rated M.


**Title: Oh, Brother**

**Rated: M for violence and sexual references.**

**For the Anti-Valentine O/S contest.**

**Characters belong to SM**.

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He looked again at the envelope. It had not changed since he last looked at it, which was about one minute prior. He kept hoping it would disappear, he hoped it would go away. We wished he would just wake up already.

He wasn't dreaming, though. He knew it was real. He was looking at the reminisce of the life that would've been.

It still had that lame Mickey Mouse stamp. I was dated Feb. 15th and contained no return address. No way to respond. No way to stop her.

He still could not believe she did it.

He knew there were guys - cheap bastards - who would break up with someone to avoid buying presents for them on Christmas or Valentine's Day. Hell, his best friend did it to his girlfriend the year before, but he never thought it would happen to him.

He was a real keeper. He looked at himself in the mirror - those cheekbones are to die for, he thought. He treated her like gold. He tried to please her in every way. He always made sure you was pleased in bed first. He always made sure she had money to get herself primped. He even did half of the cooking and household chores, even though she only worked part-time. Who would not want him as a boyfriend?

He was good at what he did. Ok, so maybe he smelled bad after a day working at the wastewater plant but was that his fault? Was that really a good reason to give up their relationship? Was that really a good reason to walk away on over a year together?

He pressed play on the voice mail again: "Emmett, this is Jane. It's over. I can't stand this anymore. This relationship...It's smothering me. It's making me claustrophobic and I feel so dirty all the time and well, it stinks. Literally."

He had called her hourly, all day, but she would not answer. Did he not deserve a chance to change her mind?

Then he received the envelope. Maybe it was her apology. He had already decided he would forgive her and take her back. In all honesty, he really loved her. He wanted to be with her forever. He wanted her to have his children. He wanted to marry her, spend their years growing old together….

He would still give her the room deodorizer, his Valentine's Day present, if she took him back. He figured that would solve the problem.

Sure, he could shower before he came home, like she had asked. But he preferred showering in the privacy of his own home. Was that so wrong of him?

Could the stink from his job really have caused the breakup? Could someone really be so trivial as to leave someone on Valentines Day…by voicemail at that, because they smelled bad when they got home from work?

He took a deep breath and opened the envelope.

His eyebrows went up when he saw that the handwriting on the letters was his. He looked at another page and that too was a letter he had written her. Every letter that he had ever written her now lay in his hands.

Then he saw it - a post-it note.

"Emmett, I can't take it anymore. I thought moving out would end the problem. But everywhere I turn I smell you. These letters you wrote to me while rowing in the boat at the sewage bond... Well, I know your intent was good. But, God, do they stink. I just can't have them smelling up my new house. So here, you can have them back."

He read it twice.

He started reading it a third time then stopped and picked up the phone. He dialed a number he knew by heart.

"Hey, boss? You remember that promotion you offered me? The one I turned down because it would mean working in an office? Is it still open? Can we talk about it tomorrow? Ok, thanks."

He started to hang up then realized his boss was still talking.

"That stupid bastard. Now he wants the promotion after you left his ass. I don't know what the hell took you so long to leave to smuck. I mean, damn Jane…we've been fucking since November."

He held the phone against his ear with his mouth agape…How in the hell had he missed that his girl was fucking his boss…His brother.

Anger built in him. He had yet to feel this emotion. He had felt pain, shock, remorse, confusion, but not anger…not hate.

He rang off the phone and threw it onto the couch, before making his way to his room and pulling his 9mm Beretta out of the safe. He grabbed the clip, checked it for rounds and slid it into his waistband.

The next thing he knew he was standing in front of his brother's office door. He started to raise his hand to knock, but changed his mind. He abruptly opened the door to find his brother sitting at his desk and Jane's head bobbing up and down on his brother's dick.

"Emmett, shit! What are you doing here?" his brother asked.

Emmett pulled the gun out of his waistband and pointed it as his brother's dick…Jane's head.

"This," Emmett replied.

He pulled the trigger…once…twice, into the back of Jane's head.

"Emmett! What…why?"

"Well, brother...you see, when I called earlier, you didn't properly ring off, and I heard you and Jane. I heard you call me a stupid bastard. I heard you mention that you'd been fucking my girl for months. And well honestly…that shit pisses me the fuck off. I am sick and tired of you thinking you are better than me because grand-pa left you the company. I am sick of you constantly putting me down. I am sick of you being the fucking prodigal son, while I sat back and got your left-over's."

"Em, bro, you are over-reacting. Jane was nothing. I did you a favor. She was a cheating whore."

"No, Edward. I didn't over-react." I raised the gun and pointed it at my brother's head.

"Emmett, don't please!" he begged.

"I'll be sure to take care of Bella for you." I pulled the trigger and hit my target square in the forehead.

I turned and left the office, tossing the gun in the sewage evacuator…no one would ever find it.


End file.
